


I'm not Insane

by sebabestianstan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8414869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebabestianstan/pseuds/sebabestianstan
Summary: Steve is a young nurse working at a psychiatric hospital. On October 27th, 1969 he meets with James Buchanan 'Bucky' Barnes, a seemingly harmless yet dangerous man considered 'special' by the other nurses at the hospital. Steve discovers something new about Bucky and himself as they share a moment in the examination room. There's a fine line between reality and illusion. You don't know if you've crossed it. And if you have you don't notice it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short story I wrote for my creative writing class. Other than appearances and names the characters share no relation to the actual MCU characters.

The day is October 27th, 1969. I press my lips together as my fingers dance along the Manila folder in front of me. Outside I can hear the cries of many, begging for mercy, for help, and the belittling silence that overcame the room when the door shut behind me. I’m not alone in the room; I’m not allowed to be in a place like this, but I knew what I signed up for when I applied for the internship. Somewhere in Orlando my parents must be lounging next to their outdoor pool under the Florida sun, too free and too old to care about anything but their liability for heat stroke and keeping themselves hydrated with their mixed drink of choice. Florida’s a long way from Seattle, but I try to keep my parents up to date with any new prospects that enter my life nevertheless. However, something held me back from telling them about my internship at the city’s psychiatric hospital. Pride, humility, or perhaps both? I did not want them to worry so now as far as they knew while living the luxurious life they always wanted, I was working nurses shifts at the hospital; it is not too far off of a lie, but it mellows the guilt.

My first day is still clear in my mind. I haven’t lost my marbles yet like my friends warned me about. “Welcome aboard. I must say, it’s going to be difficult.” the facility’s director, Mr. Carlyle, had spoken as his clasped hands undid themselves in a gesture to shake my hand. “You’re just the person we wanted Mr. Rogers.” It was one of the first and last times I spoke to Mr. Carlyle in person. As director of the hospital he wasn’t around often unless it was for business higher up in the chain of command. Mr. Carlyle had a sense of humour. Whenever he did visit he’d always tell the same lame joke every time.

“Why did the banana go to the doctor?” He would ask and wait for an answer, which he’d never get, then he’d chortle, “Because it wasn’t _peeling_ very well.”

Weeks passed and the number of hours I spent in this facility outnumbered the times I’d been anywhere else. But like I said, I knew what I was signing up for.

I’m still considered new here; the rookie, someone to pick on and scare. The hospital isn’t necessarily a place meant for making new friends– it’s meant for the nurses and doctors to do their jobs and for the patients to get better– but I still manage to not annoy the only other male nurse in my ward, and even if he and I don’t see eye to eye, all we have is each other. His name is Tony.

Today the canteen felt a little less small than before. I feel eyes burning into the back of my skull from the sound of the pages turning, but what was I to do to stop it? My interest in the matter only went so far as turning around to ask what was wrong.

“Nothing,” She says, fixing her nurse’s badge onto his scrubs as she approached me, “you’re new right?”

_I literally saw you yesterday; you offered me a muffin and I said no thank you_ , I think to myself as I shake my head at the woman disapprovingly. “Seriously? I’ve been here for almost three months,” I pause to read his badge, “Natasha.”

Her eyebrows raise at my tone and she chuckles softly, “Sorry,” She pauses much like I had and peers down at my chest, “Steve.”

“Places like this, a lot of people come and go. You start to lose track.” She continues.

I nod, hoping she’ll take my silent remark as a cue to leave.  When she did I turned my attention back to the folder. My beeper sounds off moments later and a new wave of furor rushes over me. As I leave the room I notice Natasha watching me intently from across the room, her lips mouthing the words “good luck” from afar didn’t do well in settling me, but I thanked her silently in my mind for not overtly screaming at the top of her lungs; I’ve heard enough screaming to last a lifetime.

My feet bring me down the corridors but my mind had me walking towards elsewhere, like the 7/11 down on Phoenix Street.

“You shouldn’t have skipped breakfast today Steve,” I mutter to myself, “told you so.”

I enter the room and am greeted by the same bland walls that dominate the facility. Whoever said white was a calming colour was wrong. The mold forming at its edges threatening to sink in further with the white concrete mocks me; _this is you_ , it says, _look at where you are_. I take a moment to greet the two large guards standing in the far corner before taking my place at the foot of the table. My chair is cold, its metal surface sending chills up from my thighs to my fingers. The folder is open in front of me again and I drum my fingers over its corners as I take the time to read about the patient I was seeing today.

The nurses around say he’s special, which confused me at first because in a way isn’t everyone in this place some form _special_?

“He committed crimes against nature,” One nurse had said to her friend. I overheard them giggling afterwards at how much of an injustice it was for someone so handsome to be the devil incarnate.

With his folder laid open in front of me I began to understand what was so _special_ about him. Those nurses weren’t wrong about him committing crimes. He’s done a myriad of things growing up: stoning the neighbourhood cat, holding a knife up to his own mother, pissing on graves, but it all seemed like typical teenage boy behaviour to me. He belongs in a prison more than a psychiatric hospital if you ask me. Suddenly the door opened. The sound of it hitting the opposite wall startled me, but nothing unnerved me more than the sight of a man being dragged in by two men. Their voices were loud, warning the chained man to calm down _or else_. Surprisingly the man cackled, spitting on the feet of the guards who seemed to have lost his patience and in return roughly had the man sit in the chair in front of me. The two men left as quickly as they came, and I noticed the two guards who were with me stand more alert.

My eyes travel first to his chained arms then the tattoos they covered. His inked skin stands out next to his blue jumpsuit, and I could see every inch was covered besides his face which was framed by a mop of dark hair.

So this is _James Buchanan Barnes_.

“Oh my,” His head lifted and cocked to the side as his blue eyes found my own, “I remember this scenario.” He slurs his words and I hear his chains rattling against the chair as he smiled and stood.

I sank deeper in my chair, though I hoped he hadn’t noticed, his broad figure shadowing over my smaller frame. He did not come up very far as his restraints held him back, but he continued to smile as he watched me. His eyes dart to my lab coat, and he grins wider, “Steve, Stevie, Steve.” He chants, nodding, “Yes they told me about you.”

“That’s doctor Rogers to you mister Barnes.” I say firmly though he seems to see through me as he shakes his head. “No, no, call me Bucky,” He glances down at the folder and looks up at me again, “So what’s on the playbill today Stevie?” Bucky sounds weak but I know that he’s anything but weak.

Unhappy with his tone, one of the men behind me approached Bucky and had him sit up higher– his gentleness isn’t apparent. I flinch, watching the force lead him to grunt shortly in pain. “Easy man.”

“Steve; my name is Steve. If you insist on calling me by my first name–”

“Easy Stevie,” He says again, his smile disappearing then reappearing again. “See, it’s that simple.”

“Well, _Bucky_ ,” I articulate his name, “it’s not quite that simple.” Knowing what he’s done and what he’s capable of, how could he expect me to feel easy around him?

“On the contrary doll, it quite simply is. You see, these men in their uniforms prancing around the building like they’re carrying the world on their shoulders is but a disguise. You think they’re happy working in this shithole? They’re about as happy to be here as I am. I hardly even see a reason for me being here.”

“Why is that?” I ask him.

“They think I’m insane. I’m not.” Bucky looks at me as if I was without a brain.

“Your folder would suggest differently,” I say, “I mean, general anxiety growing up, psychotic behaviour, and bipolar disorder; just to name a few. A comorbidity like that, surely you’re aware.”

“Maybe, but as you can see I’m a grown man now. I’m not the stupid boy I was in those years. How old are you Stevie?”

“Does it matter?”

“Well, remember yourself as a young boy. I’m sure you weren’t always the sprightly man you are today.”

_But I’m not insane like you_ , I wanted to say but I bit my tongue instead.

“I suppose you’re right.” I mumble.

“That folder is nothing but a bunch of lies. I’ve been set up.”

“By who, Bucky?”

“T’Challa, my colleague at work. We were both gunning for the president position at the company in New York. I should be out there running that shit, not stuck in here like a freak.”

I take a moment to view his folder again. Surely enough I see the name ‘T’Challa appear once or twice. _First-degree murder_ , I see highlighted in bold lettering and I glance at Bucky who is looking at the white wall with a smile.

“Hey Stevie you ever been to Fifth Avenue?”

“Can’t say I ever been.”

“It’s got everything you need and more. It stretches from one hundred and forty third street in Harlem to Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village. I bought me my suits there; expensive, designer, the lot.”

“Doesn’t sound like the kind of place meant for folk like me.” I say as Bucky chuckles. “So what? Say, if you go sometime maybe you could grab me a bag of chips at the corner store? Or go see a Broadway show. You ever seen one of them in real life?”

“No Bucky, I haven’t.”

“I saw my first Broadway show at the Gershwin theatre; can’t say I remember the title of the show but I remember my momma taking me with her and her beau at the time. It’s on two hundred and twenty-two west and fifty seventh street in Manhattan if you decide to go. Send me a postcard.”

“You sure know your way around New York.” I say.

“Born and raised,” he says proudly as he leans back further in his chair, “as soon as I get out of here I’m gonna head out and see a Broadway show.”

Seeing the metal table’s reflection in his eyes, I brought myself back to the reality of where we were and who was sat in front of me. Bucky shows signs of psychosis, clearly unaware of the extent of what he’s done. He can’t tell what’s reality and what’s not. He’s a psychopath.

“So tell me Stevie, am I insane?”

I glance at Bucky who is leaning into the table with every inch his lips turn upwards. Taunting me, he continues, “Stevie,” He sings, “look at me doll.”

“You are.” I say and jump as Bucky arches himself back and releases a roar of laughter. His laughter is as comforting as the sound of a chainsaw.

“You’re wrong doll!” He yells, fighting against his restraints as his voice grew louder. “I will walk out of those doors a free man. Nothing you or anybody can do about it. When I do, I’m gonna fucking kill anyone who tries to stop me. Like Aristotle said, there is no great genius without some touch of madness.”

The rattling of his chains left me unsettled, but his actions brought the attention of the two guards in the room to him and they were quick to hold him down which lessened the fear in me. The blue in Bucky’s eyes made up for any light in his remaining soul.

“We’re done here.” I say as I close the folder. “Take him up to shock therapy. Have Thor deal with him.”

“N-No,” Bucky’s eyes grew wide as he shook his head, “no, I told you! I’m not insane.”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow Bucky.” I say to the unhinged man as he is lifted out of his seat and onto his feat. The chains around his wrist and arms are pulled tighter as the two guards drag him away. His voice carried through the corridors: “I’m gonna kill you!” He yells, but it wasn’t anything new to me. Typical behaviour coming from a brilliant mind like his. I hear the guards yelling just as loudly back at the man and it’s all I hear until they disappear around the corner.

I take his folder with me as I leave the room. I’m done for the day and so I prepare myself to leave. I make my way to the front of the hospital, carrying the folder with me. I plan to do some light reading in preparation for tomorrow. Chills rush through me as the doors open and I am welcomed by a gust of wind. Tony appears next to me and he’s not alone. With him is Natasha who greets me with the same silly smile she had on earlier.

“Steve come along dear it’s time to take your medicine.” His voice is soft yet firm as he takes my wrist, drawing me away from the doors.

I retaliate, removing myself from his grasp, “No, I’m going home Tony. I’m done for today.” I tell him, as my chest swells and lowers with my heavy breathing. Tony doesn’t hesitate to grab my wrist again, this time taking the folder from my grasp.

“One dose Steve. You can’t leave unless you take your medicine.” Tony says.

He leads Natasha and I into the other room where a small group of patients were stood waiting with the other nurses who are holding trays of white paper containers. Tony gives Natasha her own then does the same with me. He hands each of us water, “Go on now,” he nods, encouraging us to follow the rest of the group in taking the medicine.

“I don’t need this,” I explain, “I work here. I’m not a patient. I’m not insane.” I tell him, but Tony seems adamant in having me take the medicine.

His eyes watch me carefully as he gently pushes the container closer to my mouth. I take the medicine and swallow thickly. Tony looks through the folder, his eyebrows raised as he peers from the pages to me. “What’s this Steve?”

“It’s Bucky’s folder. I’m studying it so I know how to fix him.” I tell him as he nods understandingly. “I see,” He hums, but his tone suggests otherwise. Tony turns to the nurse next to her and shows her the contents of the folder. “His creativity is there in his scribbling. I’m not sure what it means but I think the medicine’s working.” He whispers, unaware that I could hear him. He and the nurse talk some more and I look at the exit expectantly.

“May I go now?” I ask him, though he doesn’t seem hear me.

“I say another round in shock therapy before bed; tomorrow we see if there’s progress.” Tony says, “He’ll come back, but she won’t come back willingly.”

I decide not to wait and quietly made my way back into the main hall. As I march towards the doors, I wrap my arms around myself more as the wind picks up again.

Suddenly I’m no longer walking. I feel a sharp pain in my neck before numbness overtakes my body.

“Patient number two sixty-nine has been sedated. We’re bringing him to shock therapy now.” A voice rings in my ear as I am lifted off my feet.

I peer at the number on my shirt: _No. 269._ I see a few slivers of white before complete darkness overtakes me.


End file.
